Name Game: The Biggest Gains to Date!

You've left me breathless.

So many names this week. Just when I thought that surely the supply must be dwindling. Most of these came in the comments section, so they are not news to you. But now it's time to do the clean-up.

First, though, some new ones came in via e-mail. Mrs. Queeney, whom I introduced you to this past week, gives us "Michael" from "Playground in My Mind." (I'm taking her word for it.) And Jim Croce's "Don't Mess Around With Jim." She also gives us submissions from the musical "Hair"--"Frank Mills" and "Abie Baby."

Musicals are fair game. I like the lateral thinking in going there.

What is troubling is Mrs. Queeney's very aggressive attempt to split this baby wide open. The judges at The Big "C" are freaking out right now. Why? Because Mrs. Queeney casually tossed out, "If you count TV theme songs. . ."

Ka-POWIE!

Do we count TV theme songs??????

Arguments for: They are post-1955; they are 'popular' in that more Americans could sing them than could sing most other 'popular' songs (right now, I'd bet my left breast that every one of you could sing the Cheers song); they are not hip-hop/rap.

Arguments against: They're TV theme songs!

I don't know. Sigh. I just don't know. Nick? What do you think? Does anyone else want to be a judge? We have several positions open right now.

If we do count TV theme songs, then Wyatt (Earp), Davy (Crockett), Casper and Felix (as in the cat, not my uncle, she points out) are on the list.

But the brazen assault didn't stop there. She also tosses out that perhaps we might "broaden the time zone" to allow Tin Pan Alley tunes such as Carol Channing's "I'm Just Wild About Harry" and Ray Bolger's "Once in Love with Amy."

I'll tell you what's attractive about this argument:

1. It will really open the discussion up to Dad, who keeps e-mailing me old-timie song submissions and

2. Mr. Thallemer used to sing "Once in Love with Amy" to me on camping trips once he'd thrown his fourth or fifth empty beer can into the fire. (Metallurgic note: Old Style cans melted; Old Milwaukee cans did not.) That is a very fond memory indeed. Even if he didn't know any words beyond that one phrase: Once in love with Amy!

So what the heck? Sure! Any song from 1900 onward!

Speaking of Dad and our newly broadened standards. . .he gives us one not likely to be found elsewhere: "Lester Leaps In" by Count Basie.

Now, turning to some un-controversial entries:

Janice gives us "Jeremiah was a bullfrog. . ."

Kathryn Queeney (who is married, by the way, and might well have a different name now; but I'd have found it impossible to give up the initial "Q,"--maybe she did, too) gives us several and reveals that though she'd like to stop this madness and start thinking of something more useful, she just can't. Hearing about this kind of obsession helps heal me, KQ. Thanks for doing your part.

And so, from KQ: Bobby McGee (knew there was a Bobby--in fact, several other entries came in for Bobby); Julio, that schoolyard song, and "You Can Call Me Al," both from Paul Simon; and "What's the Frequency Kenneth?" by REM.

Whew!

Newcomer, Gail, friend of my sister and now a friend of mine, took the hint from last week and mined Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" for Harry, Walter, Marciano, Juan, Dean, Davy (TV theme song or not, it's in!), Lawrence, Malcolm, Bernie--now that was a worthwhile effort!

She also comes up with Levon and Jesus from Elton John's song about the balloon guy. "Uncle Albert," from the Beatles and "Fernando" from ABBA. (Nick is kicking himself for not getting to that one first. . .)

"Anonymous" submits "Joey" by Sugarland. Is that you, Vickie? I know how you like your Sugarland!

We already have Joey on the list, from the Concrete Blonde song, but I bring this up because this Sugarland song (they are a very fun country band) is a current Top 10 hit--it gets the award for the most recent use of a man's name in a pop song.

Another country submission, from Mr. Colorado himself: "Chris" is used in a Garth Brook's song that also mentions "lonely women" and "booze," so we're talking authentic country here.

His wife also submits on his behalf:

"& Luckenbach Texas song mentions Hank and Newberry e.g. "Hank William's pain songs and Newberry's train songs"

but is Newberry a male reference?"

"Hank," yes.

"Newberry"--this happens to be Mr. Colorado's last name. So it's a male name in that it refers to him, at times, and if we were still hovering around 20, I'd be desperate enough to count it. But we're fat and happy with men's names now. We're kicking butt here, people. No need to grovel.

Then there's Sister #2 who, and I'm sorry to be harsh here, but sometimes the disciplined approach is the most loving, totally phones it in. Check this comment out:

"Your title for this day, 'Name Game', isn't there a song out there stating a name then rhyming with banana and "fe fi fo fana" and then new names etc. Remember this is your non music sister, but I do believe there are guy names in it. Probably all ready on the list."

"Non music sister." This is your excuse, Mary Jean? For not actually coming up with a name from this song? Do you want to help this team or not???

Maybe I should go easy on her. Electronics in her house never work right and it's entirely possible that she's been impeded from conducting a google search of The Name Game lyrics. At least, that's what I need to believe to fall asleep at night.

Sister #3, Leslie--aided by her usual partner in crime, Maura--gives us Leroy, and Tony and Rico, these both from "Copa Cabana."

Is that all?. . . Yep. Whew. There's got to be a better way to organize these names in a way that's easy to add to without screwing up the numbering. But that's so not my thing.

For today's round-up, we have these additions:

Jim/James
Michael
Frank
Abie
Lester
Harry
Jeremiah
Bobby
Julio
Al (taken as different from Albert, because it might be short for Alan)
Albert
Kenneth
Walter
Marciano
Juan
Dean
Davy
Lawrence
Malcolm
Bernie
Levon
Jesus
Fernando
Chris
Leroy
Tony
Rico

27 Names! That is a great week's work!

And, waiting in the wings, pending the judges' decision (who are the judges again?), we have a few TV Theme Song entries, including Wyatt, Casper and Felix

Our current list:
1. Micky
2. Bill(y)
3. Maurice
4. Jack
5. Ben(nie)
6. Louie
7. Gene
8. Fred
9. Buddy
10. Henry
11. John(ny)
12. Ricky
13. Willie
14. Whelan
15. Elvis
16. Luke
17. Charles(Charlie)
18. Chester
19. Paul
20. Tom(my)
21. Daniel
22. Eddie
23. Anthony
24. Jude
25. Stan
26. Gus
27. Roy
28. Lee
29. Andy
30. Fred
31. Moses
32. Peter
33. Amadeus
34. Jessie
35. Vincent
36. Joey
37. Jim/James
38. Michael
39. Frank
40. Abie
41. Lester
42. Harry
43. Jeremiah
44. Bobby
45. Julio
46. Al (taken as different from Albert, because it might be short for Alan)
47. Albert
48. Kenneth
49. Walter
50. Marciano
51. Juan
52. Dean
53. Davy
54. Lawrence
55. Malcolm
56. Bernie
57. Levon
58. Jesus
59. Fernando
60. Chris
61. Leroy
62. Tony
63. Rico

You know what's going to happen, don't you? We're going to have to shoot for 100. And if we make it, then my hypothesis that women's names are used far more often than men's is in very serious jeopardy.

One step at a time. One step at a time.

UPDATE:

I'm related to a genius! Sister #1, Laura, not only alphabetized the list (and found a "Fred" error) but more importantly, she figured out how to keep them all numbered!

1. Abie
2. Al (taken as different from Albert, because it might be short for Alan)
3. Albert
4. Amadeus
5. Andy
6. Anthony
7. Ben(nie)
8. Bernie
9. Bill(y)
10. Bobby
11. Buddy
12. Charles(Charlie)
13. Chester
14. Chris
15. Daniel
16. Davy
17. Dean
18. Eddie
19. Elvis
20. Fernando
21. Frank
22. Fred
23. Gene
24. Gus
25. Harry
26. Henry
27. Jack
28. Jeremiah
29. Jessie
30. Jesus
31. Jim/James
32. Joey
33. John(ny)
34. Juan
35. Jude
36. Julio
37. Kenneth
38. Lawrence
39. Lee
40. Leroy
41. Lester
42. Levon
43. Louie
44. Luke
45. Malcolm
46. Marciano
47. Maurice
48. Michael
49. Micky
50. Moses
51. Paul
52. Peter
53. Ricky
54. Rico
55. Roy
56. Stan
57. Tom(my)
58. Tony
59. Vincent
60. Walter
61. Whelan
62. Willie

A Silver Bullet of a Song

Theme song Thursday!

This week, we discover the breadth of the term "theme song" as we see that any song that encourages me somehow counts.


Behold: Frankie, by Bruce Springsteen. Yes. Him again. Can't help it. He was on the brain from last week. And then I got the idea of silver bullets on the brain this week. The twain met.

I am always glad to listen to this. It puts me in a good mood if I'm not in one already. A silver bullet if there ever was one.

And, if I may dare to venture, it's one of the great love songs sung by a rock n' roll artist. I think there a few different standards we can use to measure whether a song qualifies as a great love song. One of them is simple enough: Would I want so and so to sing it to me?

In the case of Frankie, the answer: Uh, yeah.

Here's Springsteen on the piano, singing un-plugged; lyrics included, a lovely version



Here's a plugged in version--not as great a recording released on Tracks, but no one has posted that version Youtube, and it's not like I'm going to.

Drugs

It's Day 9 following the start of chemo and I'm feeling 100% in daily routine, though I can only work out at about 75%. I am very thankful for this well-being. And if this whole treatment cycle turns out to be one crappy week and 2 normal weeks, I'd have a hard time imagining a better chemotherapy experience.

But I was pretty weepy in the days leading up to Day 1 of chemo, so I knew there was something I didn't like about it. But it didn't make sense not to like it. This is the treatment God is using to cure me. I should be pretty happy about it, no?

So here's the problem: On some very deep, very basic level, it was important to me that I was a healthy person.

Almost like a health-vanity.

It offended me to picture myself letting drugs drip into me, and then going home to eat pill after pill after pill. I am a healthy person! These drugs can't be for someone like me!

Then there was a turning point, when I began to shed that vanity and embrace a new philosophy which was, briefly, "You got drugs? Great! Because I take drugs!"

The turning point was during my appointment with Dr. Maurice Markus.

I went into that appointment expecting a lot from him. Up until then, I had liked him. Had confidence in him. Had confidence that he is the doctor God wants to have treat me. Had not noticed one single false note or poor moment in him. He was kind, honest, fair and uber-competent. What more could a patient want?

I wanted him to like me.

Not that I'd felt he disliked me. But I wanted to know that Maurice Markus as not just thinking, "Here is a cancer patient. I cure cancer patients. I will try to cure this one," but also, "I like her so much and think she's so wonderful that it's obvious the world would be a lesser place if Amy left it, so I will do my best to make sure that doesn't happen as result of breast cancer."

Bryan said this was unfair of me. "What if I were your doctor?" he reasoned, meaning someone as quiet and reserved as he is.

I laughed. Bryan! As an oncologist! Thanks, Babe, I needed a good grin. . .

So I went into that appointment with a mission and a Diana Ross song in my heart.

But I didn't even have to do anything! He walked into the room with a smile and a warm hand-shake and seemed glad to see me! Then I said, "I do have a question for you that's completely irrelevant and I hope you don't find it impertinent: Your name."

"My last name?"

"No, your first name. I'm kind of obsessed with it. Is Maurice a family name? One your mother always liked?..."

It was his grandfather's name, "Maurishevua" (surely I spelled it wrong) and his family was "on the run across Europe when his mother was born in Paris."

I interjected, "From out of Russia?"

No, Eastern Poland.

And then, for some reason, for some reason!, the story didn't get finished! That's the last he said--that his mother was born in Paris--but why this means he should be named after his grandfather? Huh!

Here's my promise to you: I shall extract the rest of the story.

Then he said, "I've been thinking of you since the last appointment every time I'm in the car with the radio on. I've been trying to think of songs with men's names in them."

Hotdog!

He's thinking of me outside of office hours.

We got down to business which was, basically, his telling me which medications to take and when. There had been some debate earlier with She Who Shall Not Be Named as I had merely wondered aloud whether I would automatically take the anti-nausea regimen, or whether I'd see if I could do without and play catch-up if necessary. You know. Because I didn't want to take drugs or anything.

Markus, having heard of this discussion, wanted to know what I was planning and I told him, "I think I was having a problem thinking of myself as a sick person who needs a lot of medicine. But I'm over that now and I took my first Edvent this morning."

He nodded and said, "Right, because some of these people don't want to take the drugs and they find themselves sick as dogs and can't keep a pill down so then they're screwed." This look of frustration came over him, a compassionate kind, like he was just pained to see people do things the hard way. "I want to tell them, 'There are no side effects. Just take the damn pill.'"

There's something about a willingness to use a cuss-word-lite in front of me that I take to be very friendly. You and me, Markus, are going to get along just fine.

And something in that comment of his made me suddenly feel OK about taking any and all of the medications I need to. Why not just take the damn pill? Or poison. Or protein. All of it has work to do in this body. And thank God that I have access to all this medicine, and that so far it looks like it affects me about 1out 3 weeks.

My current drug count:
1 pre-chemo anti-nausea drip, don't know its name

T
C, both chemotherapy drugs
H, the protein

Edvent (a triple pill pack I take on Days 1, 2, and 3 for nausea. Costs me $9. Costs insurance $394 per round.)

For. (I forget the name, but that's how I've been abbreviating it in my log.)
Compazine for nausea
Dex. (again, the abbreviation; again, for nausea)

Neulastin (?) (And injection I get after each chemo round to boost by white blood cells)

Extra-strength Tylenol
Clariton (Both of which are to block the bone and joint ache from the injection; plus the for. causes headaches, hence for Tylenol)

And, because the heartburn persisted, Nurse Practitioner Rose (what do I call her?) prescribed Nexium. So I'm even more ready for the next round of chemo!

I'd asked Rose, "Is there something I should be eating to soothe the heartburn? Because I can't drink milk anymore due to chemo-induced lactose intolerance."

She said, "You should really just take a drug for that." Sure! I take drugs all the time!

In fact, as you see, I now take 12 drugs. A whole dozen!

And because of them--Thank You God!--I will live to be a person who takes no drugs.

Protein Practitioner

I went for my Herceptin treatment on Monday. This is the protein I'll be getting every week throughout this Season of Chemotherapy. There is a lot to be said about Herceptin--so much that next week will be Herceptin Week at The Big "C."

For right now, it's only important to know that there's no side effect from this treatment and that it only drips for 30 minutes. So, though I will go to the Chemo Barn every Monday until Thanksgiving, every 2nd and 3rd trip is a much lesser deal than the poison days.

Today I met Rose. She is the nurse practitioner I'll be seeing on the days I don't see Dr. Science. I liked her a lot--very nice, seemingly competent person.

Of course, I still don't know what a nurse practitioner is. That's kind of embarrassing. I've been treated by many of them, and yet, I'm not really sure what their medical training is or, even more disconcertingly, what I'm supposed to call them. What's their title? We don't call nurses anything but their first names. We're supposed to call doctors by the title Dr., what am I supposed to do with nurse practitioners?

She wrote me prescriptions. So. She's more than a nurse. Is this the only more-ness to her, or does she have other super-nurse powers? And what is her less-ness to doctors?

What's even worse is that Bryan and I were acquaintances with a nurse practitioner while we were in Korea. "Worse," I say, because that would have been a good opportunity to get to the bottom of this. "Hey, John, what exactly IS a nurse practitioner and what kind of school did you do to become one? And what do people call you?"

But I felt as uncomfortable about asking that question as I would about asking an African American acquaintance, "How, exactly, do you have to care for your hair?"

Nothing wrong with these questions! But it feels like there's something wrong with not already knowing the answers.

In John's case, I had extra reason to tread carefully. I'd mis-spoken once and said, "How long have you nursed?" and he bit back, "I haven't lactated in years." See? Who wants to risk offending this kind of sensitivity?

Will I have the courage to ask Rose (or is it Practitioner Rose?) next time I see her? Well. It'd be easier if one of you knew and just told me.

As for the appointment, Nurse Robin accessed the port on the first try (Praise God!), and I hardly even felt it because this time I had the numbing cream to apply an hour before hand.

They drew blood and did the work-ups for all my numbers. WBC's, N's, H's, Platelets--oh yeah, I got lots of numbers. All of which I wrote down not because I need to keep my own medical record, but because I think it's going to be interesting to compare them to future numbers.

They were all very high/good today (Praise God!), and so we proceed with the treatment as planned.

My friend, Jen, picked the kids up today and took them to her house, where they had a great time. My friend, Chris, picked me up and took me to the appointment, where we had a great time. It lasted 3 hours total, but we gabbed the whole time. It was like going out for coffee with a friend, only instead of drinking coffee I was drinking herceptin and instead of sipping it with my mouth, it was being pumped into a hole in my chest. Other than this, we may as well have been in Starbucks.

In all, a pretty great day. It didn't end that well--what with the hard-boiled eggs I managed to burn--but that ending of the story is for the next post. I'm sticking with my original conclusion: a pretty great day.

Silver Bullets

What's your silver bullet?

The very thing that never fails to put you in a better mood? The thing that, though you have enough of it already, you are always happy to have more of?

I had a friend who asked this question once, in a quest for the "silver bullet gift" for women in general. His was a fool's quest, I think, because the whole point of a silver bullet is that it's individualized and cannot be generalized.

He said, no, this can't be true because men have a general silver bullet, that being anything sold in a hardware store.

Oh come on. That can't be true. I'm married to a hardware store kind of guy and if I wrapped up a bottle of Gorilla Glue for his birthday one year, he'd look at me askance.

Am I right to think each person has his or her own silver bullet? Probably. I'll leave it up to the comments section to correct or validate me. But let's get back to business, namely, my silver bullet:

Stationary supplies.

Pens. Paper. Variations of these.

Love them.

My favorite birthday gift of all time was from my 9th, when Mom gave me a Hello Kitty pencil case, fully loaded with goodies from the Hello Kitty store. I still have it, and one day, I'll pass it on to Gemma, who seems to really like stationary, too.

Given all this, you know why this is one of my favorite times of year: School Supply Sales! YAY!!!!

On Saturday, when I was still feeling yucky, had enough umph to get off the couch but not enough to exercise, per se, I took myself to Target to smell the Crayola aisle and fondle the boxes of Pilot gel pens and flip through the stacks of blank notebooks.

Ah. . . 24 count boxes of crayons for a quarter. It would have hurt me not to buy several. I loaded up, too, on little kid scissors, which have a way of going missing throughout the year. Threw in enough glue sticks to last until the sale next year at this time. Watercolor paints, too. Not on sale right then, but this is what the festive season does to me.

Here I was, kind of getting some exercise by being out and about, in a thoroughly good mood because that's what silver bullets do to you, and then I tuned into the parents and kids around me.

They were shopping for school supplies. The kids were universally glad to be about this business. The way they selected a box of crayons out of a huge bin of identical boxes. The way they chose carefully between the pink, blue or green supply holders. The way they lobbied with tepid eagerness for 24 count colored pencils over the 12.

And why the trepidation with their parents? Because pens were not their parents' silver bullet. Overheard, only variations of this theme: Let's get this over with. Shut up and let me concentrate. I'm trying not to spend any more money than I possibly have to. I can't believe I have to spend this much money just to send my kid off to school.

It was kind of heartbreaking.

And I'm on a LOT of drugs now. So it's not my fault that I nearly broke into tears.

It is my fault that I'm now writing about it. But maybe all of you are the good guys who agree with me in this and shake your head--for shame!--at these other parents.

What I was thinking was this: How much money do you waste on your child throughout the year????? And now you're going to whine about buying him new school supplies? The stuff he's going to bring with him for the coming year of free education that tax-payers are giving him?

Here your kid is, very excited to be getting new stuff. He's feeling the potential in those un-sharpened pencils. He's really digging the lime green binder he's picked out and he's looking forward to filling it with clean, lined notebook paper. And instead of celebrating that, and cultivating the enthusiasm, and marking this as a very happy day in preparation for a very important First Day of School, you are complaining.

And then you'll spend that much money on his hot lunches before the first quarter is even over. Yeah, we all have bills to pay, and other places we'd rather spend our money. But this is school. When a kid starts complaining about it a few weeks down the road, maybe it'd be helpful to have not given her an example to start out with.

I toodled away from the supply aisle. Picked out a cap to wear on my bald head that should emerge in T minus 2 weeks or so. Bought several bottles of hand sanitizer with the intention of turning my entire family into germophobes for the coming flu season. And by the time the cashier rang up all my silver bullets, I was feeling pretty good again.

The Wrestler

For today's Sunday Storytime, I'm opening the vault and pulling out a tale told a few years ago, while we were in Korea. A friend from that Post e-mailed recently and commented that my egg toss story reminded her of Oktoberfest in the Fall of '04. This made me a bit nastalgic.

And so I present to you an excerpt from a letter I wrote back then, when Gemma was not quite 1 year old and our situation actually felt like a somewhat tough one to endure.

On Saturday, we attended the October Fest, thrown at the Dragon Hill hotel here on Post. The food was really good, served by Korean women dressed in St. Pauly Girl outfits. And this is how it is in Korea: I see something that looks mostly right, but there is some visual cue about some scenes that rings in the back of my mind. And after a few seconds, I snap my fingers and say, “That’s what’s different!” Like, for instance, women who are all of 100 pounds with no curves wearing dresses that hung like drapes on them.

And to see a Korean man in lederhosen? Good stuff. Good stuff, I tell you.

After we ate, the fun began with a women’s arm-wrestling contest. Why not, right? I hoist 23 pounds of curly-haired love all day long, surely I could hold my own.

In the first round, I wrestled a woman in her late 40’s who was very small. My victory was a matter of seconds. I happened to have known her from my Bible study on Wednesdays, and when I saw her there later in the week, I pointed at her and shouted, “I owned you, Sally!”


In the second round, the semi-finals, I wrestled a woman who was at least 5’10” with proportionately long arms. She was also strong, as in, I could see some serious buffitude on her arms. My odds were not so good.

But then I thought back to my basketball days, when our coach used to caution us, “Get your brain in the game and if don’t, you STINK!” and I thought, “Where is the strategy in this game?”

As with so many things in life, it’s in the wrist. And when we matched up, and heard the official say “1 2 3,” I went for her wrist and bent it back immediately. From there, it was easy to get her to the 10 o’clock position.

And from there, nothing was easy. She was so strong. After a minute of standstill at 10 o’clock, the other match had ended, and a small circle of people had gathered closer to watch us. After the second minute of this standstill, the crowd had grown and I sensed an immense Mommy-power-contingent rooting for me. Come to find out, they had asked Bryan my name and organized a loud chant for me.

After the third minute, I considered throwing up. I was squeezing out energy from every single muscle in my body, which seems unlikely since it looks like only the arms are working. Believe me, it’s a full-body work-out.

I decided not to throw up. I decided to breath a little more and, with the huge advantage of her bent wrist and my current lead, decided that I just needed to wait her out.

At which point, people started yelling crazy things such as, “Just DOOOO it!!” And Bryan was piping in a somewhat familiar charge, “Push, Amy!! PUUUUSH!!”

After the 4th minute, I began to consider whether the wait-it-out strategy would work. Maybe “Just Do It” and “Push” would be better. So I tried, friends. I tried to “do” it. I tried to push. But the funny thing about arm wrestling is that there is another person resisting your best efforts. And resist she did. Until this slight fraction of a second, I felt her let up to, what? Re-grip? I wasn’t sure. But I seized upon the moment and launched an offensive and soon enough, I had her to 9 o’clock, just centimeters from defeat.

She somehow held me off. We looked across the table, into each others eyes. I was trying to send her a message, “Just end this. Are you crazy? Do you see what a spectacle we’ve become? Do you really think you’re going to make a comeback?”

And her eyes were saying back to me, “I’m surprised at how much I hate you.”

The 5th minute loomed ahead. The official stated, matter-of-fact, “OK, ladies, you have to end this now,” and with one final exertion I did.

The crowd went wild.

I had conquered tall, long-armed, buff-lady, and though she shook my hand soon after, she did not smile and I knew she suffered mightily to have been bested by one so small, short-armed and un-buff.

The glory was short-lived. The mommies in the audience were still cheering madly, Parin was holding Gemma up so she could “see how cool her mommy is!” and as I reveled in it and stumbled towards the finalists’ table, the fresh-faced, really buff, other finalist sat down with a huge smile. She’d won her two matches in seconds, and now she sat to wrestle me.

But there was no more fight in this dog, friend. I shook my arm a lot, and I sat down, hoping that my opponent did not know about the wrist thing.

She did.

And she beat me in under 3 seconds.

I did win a $15 gift certificate to any of the hotel’s restaurants. Bryan later participated in the nailing contest. The winner of that one was done pounding his 8 nails while every other guy was still holding at least 4 to go. Bryan was the runner-up, and got a $10 certificate. So this wasn’t a bad haul.

Then we strolled to the balcony and watched the Post fireworks display. Gemma was impressed by the sounds and colors. I was a celebrity that evening as people kept congratulating me for my efforts, saying they should have given me time to “rest-up” before the finals.

October Fest in Korea. Who would have guessed?